


Sky, It Falls

by sturms_sun_shattered



Series: Illuminate Your Path [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Action, Badass Impa, Bravery, Class Differences, Divine Visions, Gen, Original Character Death(s), Potty mouth Purah, Pre-Calamity, Shame, Sisters, Trauma, cowardice, heroics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23162518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sturms_sun_shattered/pseuds/sturms_sun_shattered
Summary: In the days leading up to the Calamity, Purah is convinced that not enough has been done to prepare despite the assurances of her older colleagues.  Impa feels sidelined by Link having taken over as the princess’s personal guard.  Robbie is too distracted by his love life to focus on work.  A court poet is too young to understand the magnitude of what is unfolding before them.29 May 2020: Major revisions completed to improve pace and narrative flow.
Relationships: Impa & Purah & Robbie, Impa & Purah (Legend of Zelda)
Series: Illuminate Your Path [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603183
Comments: 16
Kudos: 25





	1. The Champions' Parade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **29 May 2020:** I re-read this the other night and thought that the earlier chapters didn't match the pace of the later chapters. Chapter 1 has undergone the most edits and has increased in length by around 1000 words.

**Purah**

Despite the cheer of the crowd, the beat of the drums and the music of the pipes, the feeling in Hyrule Castle was one of desperation. The day was unseasonably warm, Purah thought as she walked through the nearly empty corridors of the lower castle. She could hear her footsteps on the polished stone as she gathered her portfolio under her arm and quickened her pace; the parade had already begun and she did not wish to be caught in the crowd as she made her way back to the Ancient Tech Lab. 

At twenty-six, Purah was the youngest senior researcher of Ancient Sheikah Technology at the institute funded by Hyrule Castle. She had staked her career on bringing in researchers from outside of the Sheikah circle to see if their cultural understandings and histories might contribute to filling gaps in the Ancient Sheikah literature. It was gamble that had paid off, with a Zora cleric unearthing a series of references in their literature that led to the discovery of the Sheikah Slate.

The Senior Research position had been bestowed upon Purah for her unconventional thinking, though it had to be said that there were those among her colleagues who had grown quite tired of her approach. It was because of their ire that she found herself petitioning the secretary to the King of Hyrule for more funding for the lab in Hateno. After presenting her case, she was escorted out of the castle and expected to return to the Ancient Technology Lab west of the castle.

Outside, the streets were packed with Hylians. Whether they were celebrating the Champions or simply using the day as an excuse to gorge themselves on food and mead, Purah could not say. Even the usually serene Central Square was bustling, and Purah held her portfolio close to her chest as she elbowed her way through these easily placated fools.

As she pushed through the throng of Hylians in Castle Town proper—her irritation growing at their drunkenness and revelry in the face of what Purah had come to believe was a looming disaster—she was pulled into an alley by a strong grip. She dropped her portfolio and instinctively drew her dagger to find she was face-to-face with none other than her sister.

“Impa,” she said, sheathing the weapon and gathering her fallen papers, “I might have cut your face off.”

“You can’t reach my face,” said Impa.

While Impa was exaggerating, it was hard not see their physical differences. Where Purah was short and curvy—some would say ‘cute’ to Purah’s utter irritation—Impa was tall and lean with wiry muscles.

“How did you find me in this chaos?” Purah asked.

Impa pointed to the rooftop above.

“I watched your trail of destruction.”

“There will be many an elbowed rib and stepped on toe for those foolish enough to get in my way,” Purah promised.

“I must admit, I’m surprised to see you here,” said Impa.

“I hadn’t thought to be in town on a day such as this. I tend to draw the line at holidays where the streets are awash in vomit.”

Impa’s hands rested on the lower rungs of a ladder that leaned against the back wall of an apothecary. 

“Why aren’t you with the princess?” Purah asked, unable to resist a dig at her sister, “has Link replaced you as her personal guard so completely?”

“My duties are many and varied,” Impa said stiffly.

“So, what is it that has you skulking about in an alley?”

Impa gestured with her head that Purah should follow her up the ladder to apothecary’s rooftop. Purah settled on the sun-warmed slate tiles beside her sister. Impa had set up a series of small loaded crossbows.

“Goddess, are you a sniper? I can’t be accessory to this!”

“I’m security,” sighed Impa, “look.”

Purah shaded her eyes against the bright sun to see the Champions following behind the Knights of Hyrule. The knights marched four abreast through the main street, their armour glinting in the bright sunlight. If Purah squinted she could see the Champions and their delegations behind the glare of the knights.

“They are setting out after the princess tomorrow,” said Impa.

“The whole parade?” asked Purah.

“Of course not,” said Impa, her eyes scanning the crowd for signs of discontent.

“Why are we even having a parade? It seems to me that we ought to warn the populace of the danger and set about preparing ourselves for our impending doom rather than relying on others to do our work for us...”

“The King felt it would lift spirits in these dark times.”

“It’s promoting a lax attitude toward the survival of our civilizations.”

“Isn’t that where your department comes in?” asked Impa pointedly.

“We have been making progress with the Guardians and the Champions have become familiar with their Divine Beasts...I’m only suggesting that telling everyone that everything will be alright because a handful of heroes are bound to rescue us irresponsible.”

“Passivity is better than mass panic,” Impa pointed out

“—especially when the princess is so clearly struggling—”

“The decree says we can’t talk about that,” Impa reminded her.

“As if not talking about our problems will make them go away.”

“I don’t make the laws. I just enforce them.”

“Which is why we can’t hang out any more,” muttered Purah.

“What?”

“I have to return to the lab. I don’t want anyone else dicking about with the Sheikah Slate before the princess comes to reclaim it.”

Without bidding Impa farewell, Purah scrambled down the ladder and cut through the alleys to the west gate to catch a ferry to the mainland.

**Robbie**

Robbie fairly marched into the lab with the papers containing his orders clutched in his hand. He glanced around the well-lit laboratory to locate Purah. She sat atop a high stool at a desk and tinkered away with the Sheikah Slate. Hands shaking in anger, Robbie approached her. Purah continued her work, obviously ignoring his presence.

“Purah,” he said at last.

She pretended not to hear him.

“ _Dr_ Purah,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Oh, Dr Robbie. I didn’t see you there,” she said arrogantly.

“Why am I being reassigned?” he asked,

“Because we need someone to go work at the Shrine—”

“I specialize in Guardian technology!” he said explosively, causing others in the lab to turn and stare.

Purah fixed him with a stare as the other researcher refocused their attention upon their work. Robbie suspected they were listening if the lowered volume of their work was any indication.

“You’re sending me because I’m the youngest on the team,” he hissed at her.

“I’m sending you because it needs to get done.”

“Can’t you do something about this? Assign someone else?”

“I’ve asked you to go to the Shrine of Resurrection because you’re good at figuring things out,” said Purah firmly, “the Guardians—they’re mostly worked out; it’s just a matter of fine-tuning their functions.”

“No one’s asking you to leave _your_ girlfriend behind,” Robbie said.

“Finally, we get to the crux of the matter,” sighed Purah dramatically.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“You brought Lilah to work here, can’t I bring Cherie to the Shrine of Resurrection?”

“Robbie, you need to focus! We are talking about world annihilation and I regularly feel like I am the only person taking that seriously! The signs tell us Ganon will return and that might not be today but that day is quickly racing towards us.”

“Frankly, it’s a little difficult to put faith in the signs of a legend when you’ve been telling me my entire adult life that the sky may fall tomorrow.”

“It feels like you’re arguing with me because we’re close in age,” said Purah firmly, “let me make this abundantly clear to you: I don’t give a fuck about your love life. You’ve been assigned to the expedition. You’re going or you don’t work for this laboratory anymore.”

Robbie’s nostrils flared as he stopped himself from tearing up the orders and flinging them at Purah. Instead, he inclined his head harshly in what might pass as a nod and left the lab. As he wound through the stone corridors, he was forced to jump aside as Impa barrelled through.

“What’s with you?” he called after her.

“The Champions are about the tour the facilities, no time to chat,” she said.

Not that Robbie wanted to chat with Impa anyway. It seemed she was always playing the part of facilitator between the castle and the lab these days. 

Having all of the Champions visit the lab was a rare occurrence indeed. Surely, they would be flanked by important representatives from their respective homelands. While Robbie desperately wanted exploit this opportunity to make Purah look bad in front of Princess Zelda, he decided he might as well spend his last afternoon with Cherie. 

He left through the front of the building, unnoticed by everyone waiting in the party outside except for Link. He said nothing, but Robbie could tell by the way that the knight’s eyes scanned him, that Link had noted his presence and moved on to logging possible threats to the princess.

Behind Link, the Rito Champion was complaining loudly about the parade earlier. Robbie imagined that Impa had received an earful on the ferry over.

“You would think that the security for such an event would have sufficient cause to eject _any_ drunken revellers from the premises—” 

“In that case, they’d have have to eject the entire city,” said the Gerudo Champion, a small smile playing about her lips.

“You’re just mad because he hugged you,” said the Goron Champion jovially.

“ _Manhandling_ aside,” grated the Rito, “I’m angry because he vomited on me! How he managed to slip between the guards—”

Robbie laughed a little maliciously to himself as he headed down the path to the ferry. He had been snubbed months earlier by the Rito as the Sheikah worked on Vah Medoh; he was glad the arrogant bastard had suffered such an indignity.

Out of sight of the tech lab, Robbie collected his horse from the stable and followed the road outside of the Castle Town Gates. He spent the afternoon riding at a quick pace to the racetrack. There he sought out Cherie, who was mucking out stalls in the stable.

“Robbie,” she said, greeting him with a kiss on his cheek.

Robbie plucked a straw from her chestnut hair. She was dressed in dusty trousers and a long, rough tunic. Particles from hay and straw drifted through the air and caught the shafts of light from the windows above. In this environment, Robbie became acutely aware of his own fine clothes.

“Bad news,” he told her, hands on her waist, “I’m being sent to the Great Plateau.”

“What? When?” 

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Cherie!” called a voice from outside the stable.

Robbie took a step back from his girlfriend as her red-faced uncle stomped into the barn.

“Aren’t you done yet?” his eye caught Robbie, “you distractin’ her?”

“No sir,” said Robbie.

He wasn’t afraid of her uncle, he told himself, it was just better to demonstrate respect, no matter how disreputable the man who raised Cherie was rumoured to be.

“Then you’d best be movin’ on. We’ve got races this afternoon.”

“Uncle, just let me say goodbye. He’s leaving tomorrow.”

“Good riddance,” he said, leaving the barn.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“I don’t know that my parents would exactly approve either,” said Robbie apologetically.

“We’re not really from the same world,” she agreed.

“Why should that matter?” he said.

Their differences seemed rooted in their very beings—Robbie had grown up comfortable and educated among the Sheikah. Cherie had been raised by her uncle and his wife after her mother’s death having never known her father. He spent his time in laboratories and libraries while she cleaned stalls and cared for horses. Even when they held hands, she remarked on his soft, pale skin and Robbie could feel the callouses on her sun-freckled hands.

“It matters because people think it matters,” she said glumly, “they make it matter.”

“I don’t care,” said Robbie, “I want you to come with me.”

“Robbie, you know I can’t leave. My uncle’s children are far to young to help on the farm.”

“Can’t he hire someone? I need to go, the people at the lab think this work is vital to preventing a disaster.”

“I thought preventing disaster was the job of the Champions. Isn’t why they got a parade?”

“It’s not really just a job for just a few people...” said Robbie, trying to justify the importance of his contributions.

“It’s alright...I figured this would end one way or another...”

“Cherie, I’m not ending this...”

“No, it’s really okay. Our folks don’t approve, we’re just fooling around, it was never going to last...”

“I would marry you tomorrow,” said Robbie, taken aback.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” she pointed out.

“Tonight then. Come with me to Castle Town. I know a Zora cleric, he’d marry us in a second.”

“Robbie...”

“Do you really want to waste your life here?”

“...is that what you think?” she asked him, her brow furrowed, “that what I do is a waste?”

Robbie knew he was in trouble. He had known the moment it had left his lips.

“...not a waste...I misspoke.”

“Actually, you do that a lot,” she said, returning her raking.

“I didn’t mean...”

“Go. Do your fancy research. Save the world. You don’t need to lift me up out of my pitiful bucolic existence or whatever it is that you imagine you’re doing.”

“Cherie...” how had this gone so badly?

“Get out.”

Robbie left the stable, his heart in a million pieces. Even as he and his horse plodded up the road back to Castle Town, racing spectators passed him on the way. He knew that Cherie’s family was involved in an illegal betting operation and he half-considered turning them in in a fit of vengeance. Instead, he nursed those bitter thoughts until he returned to the stone house on the edge of town where he lodged.

**Olin**

Olin had not had an audience with the princess in weeks. Rather than comfort him, his mother chided him and suggested that perhaps his poetry was lacking.

“She has been busy,” Olin said, avoiding his mother as he tried to leave their shared accommodations in the castle.

“You have been honoured with an important position at such a tender age,” she said, blocking his path “don’t waste this opportunity.”

“I’m not wasting it. She has been occupied with other matters. She’s hardly likely to fall in love with a court poet anyway.”

“Why not? You’re not bad to look at, you sing sweetly, and you come from a good family.”

Olin snorted.

“Whatever is so funny?” his mother asked, her expression one of profound dissatisfaction.

“I’m younger than she is and I’m a bastard,” said Olin flippantly.

“Your father was from a good family.”

“My so-called father doesn’t acknowledge me so that hardly matters. Why can’t you ever be happy with what we have?”

“Olin,” she said, grabbing his shirt to pull him close, “I have fought for everything we have in our lives. The moment we stop fighting we lose it all.”

Olin pushed her away.

“I’m grateful, I am, but can we stop short of marrying royalty?”

“When I carried you—”

“Ugh, again?” Olin groaned.

His mother began every story with the reminder that he not only owed her a debt for pulling them from obscurity, but also a biological one. He hoped that she would not wax on about how his birth had left her in a swoon for days.

“When I carried you inside of me,” she started again pointedly, “I dreamt that you would be blessed with the extraordinary gift for words—”

“So naturally, you had me schooled in the arts and poetry to ensure that it came to pass.”

“I nurtured your natural talents! I dreamt that you would grow to be an important man, one who would know the secrets of the ancients and pass them on to those who needed your wisdom...those who would save Hyrule.”

Olin stepped away from her. He badly wanted to make for the door, but she still blocked his path as she paced the lush carpet. Perhaps he might lure her onto the balcony.

“You know I don’t believe any of that. Or any of that emerging from the fire nonsense that you’ve started.”

“These dreams are prophetic.”

“And strangely, accompanied by terrible headaches in which all things appear alight. I’ve heard that called a migraine, Mother.”

“They come from the Goddess,” she insisted, “it was my predictions that helped locate the Divine Beasts.”

“It was ancient maps. I simply don’t believe in all of this ‘visions from the Goddess’ dreck.”

“Only too late will you believe,” she said sadly.

As she reclined on the settee, Olin saw his opening and took it. He left their quarters with a dismissive huff and wandered through the corridors. Hearing footsteps echoing from the stone walls, he turned to see Impa barrelling down the hall. He jumped out of the way as she raced past.

“Impa, where are you going?” he shouted after her.

“Confidential,” she shouted.

Olin sighed. If only he could get into Zelda’s good graces as Impa had. Somehow he doubted he was ever meant to be a warrior and advisor as she was.

**Impa**

Impa had long been Princess Zelda’s guard and confidant, but in recent months Link had completely taken over that role and Impa found herself clearing up messes for the princess and those closest to her. When she was summoned by Lady Urbosa, Impa realized that she had been completely relegated to the sidelines. Unhappy though she may be, she had sworn an oath to the Royal Family and her own happiness had to be set aside for diplomacy’s sake.

“My Lady Urbosa,” she said with a courteous bow.

Impa had long ago eschewed the feminine curtsies of the ladies of court; the knightly bow always seemed more fitting of her position, she thought. 

“Now, Lady Impa,” said Urbosa, taking Impa’s hand and drawing her upright, “don’t prostrate yourself before me. I know of your noble lineage, though you do your best to hide it.”

She was being polite, Impa realized, and she found that Urbosa’s grace made her uneasy. Sheikah nobility had no real recognition outside of her tribe.

“I live to serve the Royal Family of Hyrule,” Impa said dutifully.

“Then I won’t bother with causerie,” said Urbosa, “the Princess and her knight have set out for the spring at Mount Lanayru as planned.”

“Indeed, I saw them off this afternoon.”

“In their absence one of the Champions has seen fit to engage in some behaviour that might reflect poorly upon all of us.”

“I’m afraid that you’re going to have to be a little more specific than that if I’m to be able to help,” said Impa.

“Are you still tiptoeing ‘round the issue?” Daruk grumbled, entering the room from the complex of quarters that the Champions had been assigned.

“Daruk, these things must be handled with tact,” said Urbosa.

“And speed. What Lady Urbosa is trying to say is that fame might be going to Revali’s head. He’s gone off with some of the Rito delegation to Dark Horse Alley.”

“The gambling quarter? What would you have me do?” Impa asked.

“You can traverse Castle Town without attracting attention. Please return him,” Urbosa requested.

“At the very least, make sure he doesn’t make an ass of himself,” added Daruk.

Impa had gotten to know Revali very little over their various meetings, but she knew she would be unlikely to convince the stubborn Rito to return to the castle if he did not wish to do so. Still—knowing Urbosa’s close relationship with the princess—it seemed Impa could not deny this request and hope to remain in the good graces of the royal family.

“I will do my best,” vowed Impa reluctantly.

“That’s all we can ask of you.”

Though Urbosa’s voice sounded supportive, there was a steel in her tone that suggested that she would not accept failure. Impa nodded curtly and left the tower, racing down the stone steps. She narrowly avoided a collision with the young court-poet who wandered aimlessly at this late hour. Olin always seemed to be underfoot when she was trying to accomplish something.

“Impa, where are you going?” he called.

“Confidential.”

Impa left the castle grounds without incident and pulled the grey silk of her Sheikah stealth attire up over her mouth and nose as she crossed Central Square. She ducked through an alley behind a bakery and wove through the crooked back streets to the west side of town. Along the town wall was a row of houses which had been economically built by their occupants using the town wall as a shared back wall. This had resulted in some fairly easy smuggling in past years. While smuggling had all but disappeared after a City Guard crackdown, some of these buildings still housed some seedier elements.

Impa scaled a building across the street from a well-known gambling den in Dark Horse Alley. A silent shadow, she crouched upon a rooftop scanning for signs of the Rito party. The tiny windows of the building blotted out the light with dark curtains, but Impa could see a hint of candlelight where one of the rods had bowed in the middle.

Her eyes caught a figure who looked rather more Sheikah than Hylian. They pulled a hood down over their face as they stalked down the street. The figure came to a stop in front of the gambling den and leaned back against a brick wall.

Suspicious, Impa leapt to the next roof for a better look. She noticed another robed figure stationed down the alley. A hand on her eightfold blade, she was startled into action when several Rito burst from the gambling den, screeching and drawing weapons. The figure at the door made a grab for Revali and Impa leapt into the brawl, her blade making contact with the attacker’s clavicle before he grunted and disappeared.

“Yiga,” she cursed, turning to parry a blow from the sickle that arced toward her.

Revali had taken to the air with his fellow Rito and Impa could hear arrows hitting their marks. She landed her fair share of blows, though their attackers used whatever dark powers they possessed to dodge her most deadly thrusts. Troublingly, when the brawl had ended, no Yiga bodies remained. 

The City Guard began to arrive from their patrols on walls and streets. Panting in the stagnant night air, Impa pulled down her mask to reveal herself to them.

“Check through there,” she ordered a young guard, pointing into the gambling den.

“But what am I looking for?” he asked.

“An entrance in the back wall. This attack was orchestrated by the Yiga clan.”

Impa was surprised by Revali’s arrival as her side. Perhaps he recognized her, though, Impa thought it was far more likely that he simply saw her as the highest authority in the alley.

“What would the Yiga be doing here? I thought they were only interested in the princess,” said Revali.

“The Yiga Clan are opportunistic,” said Impa, wiping the bead of sweat which rolled from her temple to her cheek, “any blow to the side of light is a victory for their cause. It appears that this time _you_ were the target.”

“Perhaps they are growing desperate in this late hour,” said Revali smugly.

“Master Revali, it is on your account that I have come here,” she admitted.

“Oh?”

“Given what has just transpired, it might be best for us to return to the castle with our report.”

Revali weighed her words for a moment. Impa hoped that her play to his ego worked, and that he would see himself as a key figure in correcting this incident. He seemed decide that returning under these circumstances would not be objectionable.

“Perhaps you do need an escort,” he acquiesced.

“Me?” asked Imp in surprise.

“They got your wing,” he said, gesturing with his head.

Impa looked down to see the silk of her sleeve sliced in a clean line and stained with blood from a slash across her bicep. She pressed her hand against slippery warmth of the wound and lamented that it would probably need stitching.

“By all means,” she said, pleased to have succeeded one way or another, “escort me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gambling might not be in Revali’s nature per se, but I think he’s perhaps a little drunk on the popularity and acceptance that comes with being a Champion (superficial though it may be) and that may have affected his judgment after a lifetime of feeling the outcast. Also, he seems to have had a bit of a rough day and I imagine he wanted the company of other Rito to trash Hylians. This seems like a really long note for a character that I only ever write in passing, but I didn’t want it to seem like an unconsidered plot move.


	2. Hours from Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Impa gives her report. Olin prepares for a time when poetry will be in demand again. Purah sets out for Hateno. Broken-hearted, Robbie throws himself into his work.

**Impa**

“This is troubling news,” said King Rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule.

Impa had taken only a moment to bind her injured arm in black cloth before she entered the Sanctum just before sunrise. The effect was mostly aesthetic, meant to protect the sensibilities of the court from the sight of blood. She stood stiffly, uncomfortable with exhaustion, while she gave her report to the King. The captains of the City Guard, Castle Guard, and Royal Guard were also in attendance. As Revali had been the target of the attack, the rest of Champions were also summoned to hear the report.

“This should stay within the confines of this room,” said the king.

“Your Highness, I’m afraid that the event was well witnessed,” protested Impa.

“It does seem impractical to attempt to suppress this information,” said Urbosa in her unhurried and expansive tone.

“Be that as it may,” said the king, turning to the captains, “I want you to deal with gossip harshly. You are dismissed.”

Daruk and Revali left the Sanctum ahead of Impa. She stood for a moment, staring at the king in disbelief. A treasonous voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like her sister’s asked what would be gained by suppressing this information.

Impa sighed and left the Sanctum; there was nothing she could do about this, and it hardly seemed a battle worth waging. As it was, she needed to have her arm seen to and she was not relishing the idea of the castle physician stitching her injury. As she stalked through the corridor, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Urbosa.

“Please, Lady Impa. Accompany us to our chambers,” she said.

“I must have my wound seen to,” Impa protested, not wanting to be roped into another assignment by Urbosa.

“I can tend to your injuries,” Mipha said softly, “it is on our account that you received them.”

“I couldn’t impose—”

“You will notice that we have asked you to join us. It would be impolite to decline,” said Urbosa firmly, though her eyes were alight with amusement.

Impa realized that the dance of diplomacy was a game that Urbosa enjoyed far more than she did.

“Certainly, I will join you,” said Impa, though she desperately wished for rest.

As the doors to the chambers were pulled open by two guards in royal blue, Impa was treated to the sight of Daruk loudly sharing his views on Revali’s escapade. Revali—for his part—appeared to be ignoring the abuse.

“...your life is no longer just your own! You have a duty to your people and to the people of Hyrule!” Daruk tried to impress upon the Rito.

“Daruk,” announced Urbosa, halting the Goron’s tirade, “we have company.”

“I’ve had enough. I’m going to bed,” Revali said pointedly as he left the common room.

“We set out at noon! Be ready!” Daruk barked after him.

Impa sat in the plush chair that Urbosa directed her to and allowed Mipha to unwrap the black cloth on her arm. Urbosa stood before her with a look of expectation, and Impa had the uncomfortable feeling she was about to be asked for another favour.

“Thank you for the personal risk you took for us,” Urbosa said while Mipha pulled the sticky fabric of Impa’s sleeve from the slash.

“All in the course of duty,” Impa said through gritted teeth as the last of the fabric came away from her skin.

“We would greatly appreciate if this was not mentioned to the princess when she returns. We would hate for her to worry on our accounts.”

As Mipha ran her hand over the wound, Impa felt the pain subsiding.

“Lady Urbosa, I cannot lie to my princess.”

“I’m not asking you to lie...merely...hold off. She has many troubles as you well know. To think that her friends are in danger from the Yiga Clan as well...”

“I understand,” said Impa, frustrated that she was being maneuvered by the Gerudo leader once again.

“I believe my work is finished,” said Mipha, stepping back.

“May I take my leave?” Impa asked as she stood.

“Of course,” said Urbosa.

Impa dipped her head respectfully to Mipha and Urbosa and left the chambers.

**Olin**

In these troubled times, Olin’s services as court poet were not in high demand. He spent his days looking for inspiration. He had begun a series of verses to honour the Champions as would eventually be required when they fulfilled their sacred duties. He had modelled them after the style of the Ancient Sheikah epics, though he had begun to wonder if perhaps he should incorporate the styles of their people’s poetry. This might prove difficult in Daruk’s case, as Olin was unsure if the Gorons even had a poetic tradition. It was a line of inquiry that would require more study.

He pondered this as he purified himself with the smoke that trailed from a bowl of incense in the antechamber of Hyrule Cathedral. While Olin did not pray, strictly speaking, his mother had instructed him that it was good for his image if he was seen to be pious. Instead of offering prayers to Hylia, Olin sorted through his thoughts, fretting over words and phrases.

Having spent what he supposed was the requisite time in prayer, Olin arose and inclined his head to the acolytes who silently maintained the cathedral. He walked back through the streets, careful to preserve a look of quiet dignity as his mother had taught him. This was something he found quite difficult in his awkward stage of adolescence—he was gangly and clumsy from a recent growth spurt—though the courtly Sheikah robes helped disguise his awkward youthfulness and give him an air of adulthood.

This façade of dignity quickly came crashing down when he entered his chambers. There he found his mother going through drafts of his verses. She had them strewn about the table in the portion of the rooms he shared with her.

“Hey!” he said, spotting a bound leather notebook she held, “those are private and not for public viewing!”

“Have you been having clandestine meetings with some knight?” he mother asked, her white eyebrows coming together in disappointment.

Olin’s face and ears burned as he snatched to book back from his mother.

“Why have you gone though my writing?!”

“I wanted to see what you’ve been up to, since you’ve hardly been called upon for entertainment!”

“All I’ve been doing is what I’ve been instructed to do! That you would go through my private writing—”

“Was it the princess’s knight? The description of _‘glorious youth’_ seems to fit him.”

Olin’s grip tightened around the book, his fingers digging into the leather.

“We haven’t been meeting...I’m...composing for my epic,” he stammered, his face burning with embarrassment. 

“You’ve been _pining_! You know that such a union would never be accepted...though he is no ordinary knight...perhaps we could find a way to make this palatable...” she mused, always concerned about status.

Olin was certain that Link’s entire heart was devoted to his sacred duty anyway; it was at the core of Olin’s adoration of him. As it was, the knight seemed to have no lack of potential suitors. From what Olin had observed, he seemed to be universally admired...even the princess seemed to be growing rather fond of him.

“Stay out of my private things!” Olin warned his mother, “and quit trying to meddle in my affairs!”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll expose you as the fraud you are!”

Olin half expected his mother to fly off the handle, but she simply sighed and shook her head sadly.

“Just because you don’t believe in my visions doesn’t mean that they aren’t true.”

“You’ve abused your so-called gift for your own personal gain,” Olin said.

“For yours as much as mine.”

“I’ve never wanted any of this.”

His mother sighed.

“Last night I dreamt you roaming a lonely and burning world for all eternity...”

Olin covered his ears, his notebook still in hand.

“Stop. Stop doing this,” he said.

Olin made for the door, the evidence of his fixation clenched tightly under his arm.

“Where do you think you’re going?” his mother asked archly.

“Away,” said Olin.

He left the stifling confines of the chambers and wove his way purposefully down to Castle Town. Outside of the castle ground, his courtly garb attracted stares; no doubt the City Guard had noted his presence as well, and he would remain under close scrutiny. He ducked into a narrow alley where a child played with a dog. A man with a white apron with bloody stains stood smoking a pipe near a brazier. The butcher started when he saw Olin’s pristine clothing.

“Peace, good sir,” said Olin approaching the fire.

“What do you want with me?” he asked.

“Not with you, merely your flame,” said Olin.

The butcher looked as though he wanted nothing to do with this and disappeared through the back door of a shop.

Olin ripped the leather binding from the paper inside. The child stopped playing with the dog to watch as Olin dropped the pages into the fire. He watched as those sweet words of admiration from afar he had composed for that beautiful youth curled and fell to ash. Though he grieved their loss, he felt more secure in the knowledge that no one would again find them. To write down such personal feelings was a mistake he would not twice make.

**Purah**

“They’re sending you because you’ve been a pain in the ass. You know that, right?”

Purah ignored her lover’s affectionate needling as she packed her her bags for the journey to Hateno.

“It’s important to have our labs spread across Hyrule in case of the worst,” Purah said, “besides, they’re so tired of me here, no one will volunteer to go to Hateno with me. I’ll probably have the new lab all to myself...perhaps you would join me?”

“I’m not exactly a village girl,” protested Lilah, “wouldn’t the farmers gather their pitchforks at the sight of two women cohabiting?”

“We’re cute; their hands would probably be too full thinking about what we’re doing with our evenings to worry about picking up their pitchforks.”

“Ugh, Purah. You are the most gutter-minded person I have ever met.”

“I have to go...just think about it?”

“About being your live-in Hylian?”

“That’s not what this is,” Purah said, drawing her in for a kiss.

“Fine, while I shuttle messages between the lab and the castle I’ll consider it.”

Purah set out from her lodgings on the edge of town, her horse’s hooves clip-clopping against the cobbles. As she approached Castle Town gate, she was surprised to see Impa riding alone. Outside of the castle gate she nudged her horse to a trot. She caught up with her sister where the road turned from cobbles to compacted dirt.

“Hey stranger,” she greeted Impa.

“Purah.”

“Where are you off to?”

“East Post. You?”

“Hateno. Shall we ride together?”

“Only if you promise not to be unpleasant.”

Purah made a noise of protest.

“I’m a lovely person when you get to know me.”

“Knowing you is, unfortunately, the problem,” sighed Impa.

Purah was in far too good of a mood to let Impa’s seriousness get in the way of what could be an excellent journey. The heat trapped in the stones of the city had given way to the fresh breezes of the open plains of Central Hyrule. Above, the sun peeked in and out of the clouds at regular intervals.

“Look,” said Purah, “I wasn’t going to share this but I’m in a really good mood and you should know how pleasant I really am.”

“Go on,” said Impa with profound disinterest.

“I’m quite serious with someone.”

“Serious? Love serious?”

“Yes.”

“Not Staveen...”

“Ugh, of course not. Her name is Lilah,” Purah smiled, liking the way her name felt on her tongue when she said it.

“That’s a Hylian name.”

To her credit, Impa didn’t point out that Lilah was also a woman—such a consort was generally frowned upon when matters of succession needed to be settled. Purah found she was was telling Impa as much out of her own happiness as she was to see a reaction from her sister.

“I can tell you’re mad already,” Purah needled.

“I’m not mad,” shrugged Impa, “Mother and Father might not be impressed.”

“Why is it always my job to impress them? I am a senior researcher at the castle lab! Shouldn’t that be impressive enough?”

“Mother is looking for someone to inherit leadership of the village . ”

There it was. That tiny hiccough that always seemed to be in her way as she planned for the future.

“That’s not me,” said Purah.

“You’re the eldest.”

“You’re the dutiful one! And the favourite!”

“You know that’s not how it works...”

“I’ll...abdicate...can I abdicate?”

“I don’t really want the responsibility either, Purah. I am quite happy with my role at the castle.”

“You’re not happy.”

“Well...I’m satisfied at least. I have dedicated myself to the service of the Royal Family. I wouldn’t know how to do anything else.”

“Same boat, sister!” said Purah emphatically.

“I don’t want to fight,” sighed Impa, “least of all about something that is not of immediate concern.”

“Who’s fighting? We’re not fighting!” Purah protested.

“Mother is hardly in the village these days anyway,” Impa conceded, “maybe you could do both.”

“She’s being a diplomat...that’s long boring meetings which take time from research. I don’t know why we’re even discussing this. Our days are numbered; we’ll be lucky to make it through a disaster.”

“You’re so pessimistic. We have the ancient technology, you’ve said it’s well on its way to being usable.”

“It’s my job to be pessimistic...and we understand how the technology works, but much of it is not close to being ready for use on a mass-scale.”

They rode a few miles in silence, Purah fuming at her sister’s lack of acknowledgement of the urgency of the situation they faced. Of everyone she had ever spoken to about this, only Princess Zelda seemed to agree that they had not yet made the necessary preparations...though it seemed that her recent cynicism on the topic was related to her own lack of sealing power.

Late in the afternoon, they stopped to rest near Whistling Hill. Purah tied her horse on the low-hanging branch of an apple tree and plucked an apple for herself and one for her horse.

“We should make it to East Post by evening,” said Impa.

“Do you think they’d have a place for me to stay there?” asked Purah, stretching her legs.

“I imagine I could talk to someone about it.”

Purah looked at the inside of her apple after her first bite. It was mealier than she had expected.

“Why are you headed there anyway?” she asked, still staring at the apple unhappily.

“It’s confidential,” said Impa, eating her own apple without complaint.

“Come on, who am I going to tell?”

Impa sighed.

“There was a Yiga Attack there recently. I’ve been sent to assess their preparations in case there are more attacks.”

Purah was delighted she had managed to get her sister to crack for once in her life.

“Keep it to yourself, Purah,” Impa told her upon seeing her expression.

Purah started at the sound of a low-pitched bellow in the woods ahead.

“Do you hear that?” she asked.

“Moblins,” said Impa, mounting her horse and drawing her sword.

Purah followed suit with her dagger in her hand.

“Moblins...in Central Hyrule?”

“They’ve been encroaching on our territory for the last couple years.”

“No doubt a sign of things to come,” said Purah cynically.

“Just ride by...quickly. You need to keep your horse calm and focused,” Impa instructed.

“Right,” agreed Purah, though she noticed her own hands were shaking a little.

“Let’s go.”

Impa kicked her horse into a gallop and Purah did the same, following her sister through the wooded road. Purah clenched the dagger in her sweaty hand as she clung to her horse. Up ahead, Impa’s horse whinnied and reared as it saw a moblin in its path. Impa tumbled from the horse and rolled into the grass along the trail. The frightened animal bolted down the path.

“Impa!”

A moblin lumbered toward Impa with a huge spiked bat in its grip. Impa leapt to her feet in a smooth motion and stood her ground. She readied her blade in perfect calm, her jaw set. As the lumbering creature struck out at her, she nimbly ducked the blow. She stepped into it’s reach and buried her blade up to the hilt in the moblin’s belly. It let out a wretched howl as Impa yanked the blade sideways and the creature fell to the ground holding its entrails.

Purah slowed her horse and reached out to her sister. Impa grasped Purah’s hand and pulled herself onto the horse behind her. Impa held Purah around the middle with one arm; with the other hand she held her grimy eightfold blade out beside them.

“Let’s find my horse,” said Impa.

“That sword absolutely reeks,” Purah complained, gagging on the smell of moblin bowels.

“The faster we get my horse, the sooner it’s out of your face.”

They sped past several moblins who barely had time to acknowledge their presence. When they reached the edge of the woods, they found Impa’s horse grazing quietly near an apple tree. Impa slid down from behind Purah and caught the mount’s bridle before it even knew what had overtaken it. It shook its head in annoyance, but Impa stroked its face and spoke softly.

“I have to say,” said Purah, “you are rather impressive. I can’t imagine that Link has anything on you.”

Impa said nothing in response. She handed Purah her reins while she took a moment to clean the viscera from her blade. She cast the soiled handkerchief to the ground—ostensibly so they would leave the rank stench of moblin behind them—and mounted her horse.

“Shall we?” Impa asked from atop her horse.

“Let’s.”

They reached East Post that evening. The stone buildings were lit by torches on the inside. Outside, soldiers patrolled the walls above, lighting torches at intervals along the battlements as the sun sank behind the horizon. Purah and Impa were granted entrance without any trouble when they showed their documents bearing the seal of the king.

Purah was given a room with her sister in the barracks. Impa lay down in the bed on the opposite side of the narrow room, her weapons belt hanging from the rough bedpost. Purah quickly followed suit. The straw mattress smelled slightly musty, but after a day of riding Purah fell asleep quickly.

The next morning Purah bid her sister farewell and set out toward Proxim Bridge before the sun rose. From East Post, Hateno was usually two days ride, but Purah was determined to get there in one. Though the weather was fine, Purah wasted no time and cut through the green grasses of Blatchery Plain to the gates of Fort Hateno.

“Who goes there?” called the guard atop the wall.

“Purah, of the Sheikah. I have a royal dispatch,” she shouted, holding up the document with the royal seal set in blue wax.

Once through the gates at Fort Hateno, the rest of Purah’s journey was uneventful to the point of boredom. Strangely, she wished her sister could have joined her.

**Robbie**

Robbie was still stinging from his break up with Cherie as he worked alone in the Shrine of Resurrection. His two colleagues had invited him to make a small pilgrimage to the Temple of Time. Robbie—not exactly the praying type—dismissed the invitation and decided to continue his work on the resurrection pod. 

He found that he could activate a mechanism to fill it with healing waters. Curious, he placed his hand in the room-temperature water. A splinter—so deeply embedded in his finger that it was slightly festered from his attempts to extract it—worked its way out on its own accord after only a few minutes of soaking his hand. Examining the digit, he found only the faintest pink mark remained where he had dug away at it with the edge of his dagger in an earlier attempt to dislodge it.

“So you do work then,” he said, looking up at the lotus-pod shaped lights above.

He leaned over a wooden crate of supplies he had repurposed as a desk to jot down his observations in his notebook. Somehow he had cracked this in less time than it had taken his colleagues to take a jaunt about the plateau. Perhaps if he sent these findings to the lab they would allow him to return...and maybe he could convince Cherie to rekindle their romance...

A curious tremor shook some fine debris from the walls in the corridor. Concerned that this might be a quake and fearing that he may be trapped inside, Robbie collected his notebook and left the ancient tunnel. On the clifftop outside of the shrine, Robbie’s eardrums felt as though they would burst from a low hum of noise. Robbie could feel the tremendous shock wave that radiated from the castle in his very bones.

He stared at the castle, unable to comprehend what he was witnessing. Then he saw it: the gaping maw of the gargantuan creature which engulfed the castle. Robbie fell to his knees, his whole body shaking as he fought the bile rising in his throat. This bogey-man that Purah had endlessly sought to scare him with had finally come. Calamity Ganon.


	3. Though the Sky Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Impa, Purah, Robbie and Olin can only react in the hours following the Calamity.

**Impa**

The Guardians were upon East Post within an hour of that thunderous noise. Impa had hacked the sword-like arm from one of the smaller ones that had attacked in the first wave to hit the outpost. She wrapped the handle in a piece of cloth she had torn from a fallen banner and hacked through the Guardians with the improvised sword in one hand and her eightfold bade in the other. As the battle raged on, the stones of the outpost crumbled around her.

By midnight, dozens of Guardians and hundreds of soldiers lay dead. The night sky was blocked out by oily, black clouds that reflected the sickening light of the malice. Guardians climbed, flew, and crawled over the field, chasing down stragglers and setting forests aflame. They scrabbled up the masonry of the Great Plateau and swarmed the outposts beyond.

A blast from a Guardian Stalker cracked the stones beneath Impa’s feet. She tried to find her footing and escape to safer ground, but the floor gave way beneath her. As she slipped through the newly opened chasm, she felt the side of her head scrape against the stone so hard she thought she had lost her ear.

Impa found herself trapped beneath a staircase, fallen rubble covering all means of escape. Pressed in by the darkness, Impa balanced the damaged Guardian sword in a crevice formed by crumbled masonry for a bit of light. Above, she could still hear the screams of the few remaining soldiers and the sound of metal on stone as the Guardians skittered through the ruins.

She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling the stickiness of blood where she had struck her head on the way down. Now that she was trapped, she could no longer transform her fear into action as she had for the last few hours. Her arms ached from swinging two blades, and her body felt as heavy as lead. She leaned back against the wall. 

Impa’s eyelids twitched as though she were about to weep, but her eyes could not seem produce tears. She covered her mouth against a dry sob as she thought of Purah, her parents, her people, her princess...surely they were all dead. She shivered as the horror of the knowledge descended upon her and the sweat which soaked her stealth tunic grew chill.

After a while, she no longer heard screams above and took that to mean there was no one left alive to halt the skittering feet that raced through the destruction.

Impa wrapped her nerveless fingers around her eightfold blade and tried to get to her feet so that she might dig herself out from this tomb and stand between a few more of these mechanical beasts and the rest of the world. Instead, her vision wavered and she pitched forward on all fours and felt her esophagus contract. Whether it was from the head injury or the pure despair of the situation, Impa was unsure.

Having brought up mostly stomach acid, Impa leaned back against the wall, shaking and sweating as she wiped her mouth on her sleeve. She closed her eyes, and resigned herself to die next to a pool of her own sick

**Purah**

Purah could not see the world ending from her tower above Hateno. She had felt the tremors and she could see the ominous darkness in the sky and—when she looked through here telescope—the flames that burned through Central Hyrule. Even if she could not see it, she knew what had come to pass.

She tried to collect as much information as she could, but the only instrument of use was the telescope. She searched the land and sky for the Divine Beasts, and saw Vah Medoh only briefly. It did not appear to be directing its attack anywhere but the ground.

“Revali, what are you doing?” Purah whispered as she lost sight of the beast.

She spent the night trying to see anything through her telescope that might give her some indication of how they fared against Ganon, but she grew restless and worried when she could see nothing substantive. The pouring rain that began during the night and carried on to morning did not help matters. 

When the first arrivals from Fort Hateno made their way through the village gates the next morning, Purah grew certain that they had lost.

“...they have overrun the plain, firing at all who would outrun them! Great, stalking mechanical beasts!” shouted one panicked young man.

Purah realized immediately that the Sheikah must have lost control of the Guardians. She sprang into motion. In the chaos of injured men returning from the fort, she tacked up her own horse. She led her horse to the village gates, trying to keep her calm as she avoided the distraught villagers. She mounted just outside of the village gate.

“Dr Purah,” one guard called after her, “do not go to that hell!”

“I must,” she said, “I know these creatures, I might be of assistance!”

As she rode through the rain she could think only of Lilah.

 **Olin**

The calamitous sound had been so loud that Olin was knocked to the stone floor in the corridor. His ears ringing, he pushed himself from the ground to avoid being trampled by those trying to flee the castle. The hallways were littered with the bodies of those who had died in the impact. He pushed in the door to the chambers he shared with his mother.

“Mother!” he called, though he could barely hear himself over his own tinnitus.

A rough hand caught him by the back of his courtly robes and he whipped around to see a royal guard, blood trailing from one of his ears.

“Kid, get out of here!” said the guard.

“But my mother!”

“If you don’t get out now you will die!” said the guard shoving him towards the shattered balcony door.

Olin stumbled onto the balcony. He could not see the town for the malice swirling around the castle and greatly feared stepping into those toxic clouds. A great bellow from the monstrous force which circled above shook him to the core and made up his mind for him.

In a haze of terror, Olin scrambled from his balcony in the lower castle to the one below him. The next drop was further, but he rolled as he hit the cobbles of the courtyard near the first gate house. Castle guards scrambled in all directions and Olin was horrified to see Guardians in the sky targeting them. 

Why were the Guardians targeting the crowd? Weren’t they supposed to be under Sheikah control?

Olin didn’t have time to ponder this further. He took a deep breath and zig-zagged through the chaos, his soft court-shoes making no sound and bearing him swiftly through the carnage. The wall around the courtyard had crumbled near the gatehouse under the attack from above. Olin dashed through the gap in the wall, scrabbling against the rock as he slid and landed hard below. He coughed as he pushed himself to his feet. He could see the castle gate ahead. 

He was not the only one headed in the direction and he heard shrieks around him as Guardians targeted the crowd. He felt the searing heat of a blast on his back and he fell like a ragdoll, pain scorching through him. The sounds around him were horrifying—the screams of terror and pain, the wails of a mother who had lost her child. Blocking out the gut-wrenching sound of human misery, he forced himself to his feet to avoid being trampled and ran through Central Square into the burning rows of houses. 

From the cover of an alley Olin hazarded a peek at his back. The skin on his arms and back stuck sickeningly to the fabric of his clothing as he tried to peel it away for a look. Hearing the scrabbling of Guardian feet, he pressed himself against a lime-washed wall as it scrambled through the street, blasting at anything that moved.

“Can you help us?”

Olin turned to see eight ash-covered children standing in the alley with him. The fires burning around them reflected in their frightened eyes. He stood for a second in total shock that they had managed to survive this long.

“Can you run?” he asked them.

They nodded.

“No matter what happens,” he said, “you must keep running. Follow me.”

The children were true to their word, and followed Olin through the burning town and out through the a hole in the crumbling eastern wall. As they made it to the open field beyond the city walls, Olin could see Guardian stalkers in the distance. The Stalkers chased down other escapees, purposefully and malevolently advancing upon them to set their worlds aflame with their laser shots.

Olin and the children did not stop running until they had reached a bit of cover in the Applean Forest. Some of the children immediately lay down in the grass, and Olin coughed as he leaned against a tree. He looked back to the crumbling town and finally saw the malice which swirled over the castle. He did not have the time to reflect upon what had happened, but it seemed the day that they had all feared had finally come. 

Though the afternoon had dissolved into night over the course of their escape, the dark clouds reflected the pinkish light of the malice. The children lay down in the grass. Some wept hopelessly. Olin gritted his teeth, as his eyes caught the pink and blue lights of Guardians in the distance. If they were seen, they would no doubt be eliminated quickly.

“Get up,” he grunted, prodding one of the children with his foot.

“We can’t keep going...” sobbed one little boy.

“Get up or you’ll die!” he snapped, pulling that child to his feet by the flame-crisped collar.

“I want my mom!” wailed one girl.

“Get up! Pick some apples and then we must leave!”

Olin knew he was being rough with the children as he yanked and prodded them to their feet, but their time here was limited. They each carried as many apples as they could tuck into their shirts and Olin directed them to the edge of the Hylia River. They followed the river south until they were all stumbling with exhaustion.

That night, they bedded down at the bottom of a steep, sandy bank. The children whimpered and wept as Olin instructed them to eat their apples and go to sleep. In his own conflict, he had no time for them, no desire to be near them, and no reserve of empathy left to comfort them. 

He left them huddled against the eroded bank and stumbled to the water’s edge. He fell to his knees and cast aside his filthy and torn silk gloves. The courtly costume seemed useless and pointless now. He cupped some of the icy river-water in his hands and splashed it over his face, scrubbing at the ash and grime.

The coolness of the water felt good against his skin. He shed his tunic—it did not come away from his skin easily—and apprehensively noted the burns and bloodstains which marked it. He splashed the cool water down his back and up his arms and did his best to suppressed the whimper that escaped his lips. Hot tears tracked his face and he pressed his hands hard against his mouth so the children would not hear him sobbing at the water’s edge.

As the frantic adrenaline of escape had subsided, Olin’s mind began to run through the reality of what had happened. As the children wept for their own mothers behind him Olin realized that he had probably lost his too. The fields behind them burned, even as the rain began to fall from the sky.

_“Only too late will you believe.”_

**Robbie**

Robbie had spent the night barricaded in the Shrine of Resurrection. He did not know what had become of his colleagues who had visited the Temple of Time, though he strongly suspected they had perished sometime before the front of the structure collapsed under the weight of the Guardians.

When he stopped hearing the racing feet of Guardians, Robbie cautiously emerged from the tunnel which he feared would become his tomb.

Guardians still crawled across the plateau, shooting wherever they sensed motion. Trees had fallen into the burning grass as a result of their indiscriminate destruction. Robbie crept out onto the cliff side. Though it was morning, the sky remained dark. The clouds above looked strange and oily as rain fell in sheets across the land. 

Despite the downpour the world remained aflame. Beyond the plateau across Central Hyrule, Robbie could see the fires which ignited and burned out only to reignite. 

He caught sight of Vah Ruta on Lanayru’s rocky folds. The Divine Beast glowed pink, just as those corrupted Guardians did. Robbie tried to spot the other Beasts. Vah Rudania was too far to see and Vah Naboris was hidden behind the peaks on the plateau. Robbie thought he saw Vah Medoh for only a second as it careened behind Hebra’s sharp peaks. It, too, glowed with that malicious pink light. Surely the Champions who were meant to save them all had been lost.

For all the loss in the burning world around him, Robbie could think only of Cherie. He could not escape the horrifying thoughts of the stables burning and overrun with Guardians. He fought the urge to wretch as he retreated to the safety of the shrine and barricaded the opening to hellish world outside.


	4. Unlocked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Outmatched, weary and wounded, the four Sheikah continue the fight for their lives, lands, and the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for dead children

**Olin**

Olin woke the children after only a few hours rest. Two of them lay still in the sand and Olin was horror-struck to find they had neither breath nor lifebeat. He pulled his shaking hand away from the little girl’s clammy skin where he had felt no life remaining and tried to hide his horror from the children who gathered round him. 

Though his stomach roiled, Olin hardened his expression and urged the remaining six children onward. Whether it was out of some understanding of the seriousness of their situation or because shock had descended upon the group, the weeping of the previous night had dried up and the children had grown more receptive to Olin’s instructions.

They crossed a nearby bridge and Olin looked over his shoulder every step of the way. They continued their journey south along the Hylia River. Olin glanced nervously at the rushing river as its banks swelled with the rain that had started during the night. 

As they headed south along the riverbank, one of the children sat down on the ground to cry. Olin had little patience for this; even through the slashing rain, he could still see the menacing pink lights of Guardians racing through the fields across the river.

“Get up,” Olin told her, grabbing her arm and dragging her to her feet, “we can weep later.”

“I can’t,” she said, crumbling behind Olin as he dragged her.

“You must.”

“I’m ill!” she sobbed.

Olin crouched down to where she had folded, her arms wrapped around her stomach. Her face burned with fever and she shivered as she wept. Olin hesitated; if she could not walk she would slow the whole group. Rationally, he thought, they should leave her behind in the interest of their own survival.  
The thought did not sit will with Olin. He gritted his teeth and lifted her limp form in his own shaking arms.

“Keep moving,” he ordered the rest of the children.

Olin’s arms quivered with the strain as he carried the girl along the rocky bank. The distance between himself the children ahead of him grew as they travelled. In light of his growing weakness, Olin began to consider that perhaps he was not so well himself. 

“Freckles, Tall One. Please take this one between you,” he called to the children.

“We have names,” said Freckles.

“I don’t want to know them,” said Olin as the two slung the little girl’s arms over their shoulders.

“Its—”

“Be quiet and keep following the bank,” Olin snapped, holding his pounding head.

He retreated behind a tree where he was so violently ill that it brought tears to his eyes. Surely, this was some sort of shock over this horror of the situation, he thought. He rested his forearm against the rough tree trunk as he tried to catch his breath. His stomach roiled and he choked on the bile in his throat. Finally, regaining control of himself with a few unsteady breaths, he straightened and caught up with the children who had stopped.

“Anyone else sick?” he asked, he asked the huddled group.

They shook their heads.

“Then I don’t understand why you keep stopping!” he shouted, setting his head pounding again.

“We don’t know where we’re going!” shouted Freckles.

“South,” said Olin, “just keep going south...if anything happens to me, you need to head towards those mountains.”

He pointed out Duelling Peaks.

“Then what?”

“I don’t know, you might have to figure it out on your own,” Olin said, pressing his sleeve against his mouth as his stomach lurched again.

“Well, get moving,” he snapped at the children who stood watching his misery.

Though the tempestuous rain soaked them through their clothes, the children shuffled on until midday with no further complaints. Olin kept on behind them though his body screamed for rest. When the other children grew tired, he carried the little girl until he could no longer stand.

“Keep going. Stay along the bank,” he told the other children, “we’ll catch up.”

Olin set her down near a tree when his stomach revolted again. He panted on his hands and knees, as he brought up nothing and tried to regain control over his shaking body. As he stumbled back to the girl she opened one lethargic eye.

“I did that all night,” she said.

She had stopped shaking but lapsed into half-sleep and her nose bled without clear cause.

“What’s your name?” Olin asked her, his throat raw.

“Neelah.”

Olin stroked the hair from her feverish head. He wondered if this was what had killed the other children...surely he was not long to follow.

“Tell me about your favourite place to play, Neelah,” he said, his throat raw.

“Hyrule Forest Park...” she whispered, “we play knights and knaves, and princess in the tower, and stomping hinox.”

Olin listened as she told him of all those lost beautiful days. He could almost see the golden sunshine through the summer leaves as children raced through the trees, chasing each other with sticks and giggling. It was everything he imagined childhood to be for those whose lives were not bound in duty to their goddess. He held her hand and stroked her hair until she fell silent. When he searched for a lifebeat he found nothing. 

Unable to give into the sadness for her, Olin rose and followed the river bank south. His heart full of fear of the unknown, he was determined to outrun this thing that ate away at him from the inside out.

**Impa**

Impa was roused by the sound of scraping stone. As she opened her eyes, she realized cold rain was drenching her as it ran in rivulets through the cracks above her.

“Anyone alive?”

“I’m here,” she called, her voice like gravel to her ears.

A shaft of grey light opened in the rubble above her and she pushed herself to her feet. A face peeked in the opening.

“By Hylia’s grace! It’s Lady Impa...”

“Akteen?” Impa called, hearing the distinctive Sheikah lilt.

“Get her out of there!” came a second voice, further away.

Impa fastened the ancient sword to her weapons belt, and clasped the hand that reached down to her. Akteen pulled her from the collapsed stairwell and she picked her way down piles of broken masonry. She looked about the land in horror. 

Where only days before was an outpost where she and Purah had rested for the night, nothing now remained but ruins. Bodies were strewn throughout, some charred and recognizable only by the armour that contained them. A few Guardians sparked impotently between the fields of dead.

“How did you know to find me?” Impa asked Akteen.

The middle-aged warrior pointed up to white silk scarf which whipped about at the top of the remaining rampart in the fierce wind. Impa looked back at her rescuer as she felt at her throat and realized the scarf must have been lost in her fall.

“My lady,” said Diren approaching.

He had a streak of blood in his mussed white hair. Impa suspected it was not his own.

“Diren.”

“The princess and her knight have escaped the Calamity! They make for Fort Hateno!”

Of course Link would take Zelda to Hateno Village for safety; Impa would have done the same in Link’s position. Impa swiped her sodden fringe from her eyes and began to make her way Proxim Bridge, picking her way through the crumbled stone and broken bodies.

“What has become of the Guardians?” Impa asked, seeing no ominous lights around them.

“They scatter through the land, killing and burning as they go. Refugees from Goponga Village began to arrive in Kakariko as Hyrule’s forces fell back to Akkala Citadel,” said Akteen.

“Do you know, does it still stand?” Impa asked, wondering if she herself should rally there.

“We’ve had no word.”

“We came from Sahasra Slope after defeating the few Guardians that ventured there,” Diren reported.

“Dear Hylia...” Akteen breathed, pointing toward Duelling Peaks.

Guardians swarmed the Hills of Baumer, stopping their southward march to turn and face north. They scrambled back through the hills like glowing insects.

“Why would they return north?” Diren cried.

“They are Ganon’s creatures now,” said Impa, picking up the pace to the bridge, “they follow our princess.”

“My lady, do not run into this hell!” Akteen begged.

“Our lives are worth nothing if not in the service of our Goddess,” said Impa, “let us defend her flesh incarnate with our last breaths!”

**Purah**

Purah had gladly taken the somewhat too large and rather too man-shaped breastplate offered to her behind the wall at Fort Hateno. It chafed against her rain-soaked clothes in the most uncomfortable of places, but it felt protective and running beneath the scaffolding she felt exposed. She collected the debris from defeated Guardians to tip arrows and weapons in the hopes that they might slow the onslaught more effectively. The few swords she had managed to hack from the tinier Guardian Scouts had long since broken in the hands of the guards on the wall. 

Purah was sickened by the sound of death around her. The walls grew sparse with defenders as the Guardians exacted Ganon’s price. Picking up a spear that she had tipped with the shattered crystal eye of a Guardian Stalker, Purah pulled on a Hylian guard’s helm that had fallen from the scaffolding behind the wall and hoped that it served her better than it had served its last owner. Purah’s hands shook around her weapon as she climbed the wooden steps to take her place among the soldiers.

“My lady, you go to your death!” shouted a soldier who bore another to the ground.

 _Then I welcome it,_ thought Purah hopelessly, _for what world could be left after this hell?_

She heard a cheer go up from the soldiers on the wall as she reached the top. She stood on her toes to look out at the ruined fort and scarred earth of Blatchery Plain. She saw that the Guardians which had plagued them so relentlessly had changed direction and left the walls to scramble back through the ruined remains of the fort and plain.

“Why are you cheering?” she asked the soldier.

“They are retreating!”

“You fool! They’re assembling!”

Purah watched as the Guardians circled, but began to fall as they reached their rallying point. Purah realized as the trail of fallen Guardians grew that someone must be cutting their way through them towards the wall. Purah lit from the wall to the scaffolding and ran to the wrought-iron gates which were entangled with broken Guardian limbs.

“Open the gates!” she screamed up at the guard.

“We cannot do as you ask!” he hollered back at her.

“It is our Champion and Princess who cross the plain! Without them all hope is—”

Purah’s words caught in her throat as the plain exploded in purest light. Purah grasped the iron bars and squinted against the radiance. She heard rather than saw the mass malfunctioning of the Guardians, their heavy frames collapsing into the rain-softened ground. The world was strangely silent as the skittering hordes fell still and collapsed.

“Open the gate,” Purah heard the call from above.

“Opening the gate!”

Purah stepped back as the portcullis rose, tearing Guardian arms from their husks as it went. Purah ran through as fast as he legs would allow her before the gate had even locked into place. She splashed and slipped through the plain, her feet carrying her to the epicentre of the Guardian mass extinction. She shed the constrictive breastplate and helm as she ran. The damp air which ruffled her tunic was a relief against her raw skin.

“Akteen? Diren?” she wheezed as she approached the two Sheikah.

“Lady Purah!”

“Is that—?” she coughed as she pointed.

Diren carried Link in his arms as the two Sheikah warriors picked their way across the plain. Purah caught up and matched their long strides, though her lungs and legs protested the pace.

“The Princess?” she panted.

“She took the Master Sword and left for the castle...she claims that nothing can hurt her now. We’re under orders to bear him to the Shrine of Resurrection,” said Akteen.

“Yes! Of course!” said Purah, “Robbie should be at the shrine!”

“Purah.”

Purah looked up from her conversation to see Impa striding toward them. The side of her face was with slick with blood and more stained the collar of her tunic, but she walked upright as though she was unhurt. 

Purah covered her mouth to suppress the sudden relief which overwhelmed her at the sight of her sister safe and alive. She gasped back a sob as Impa threw her arms around her in a crushing embrace. Purah clenched fistfuls of her sister’s clothing as she pressed her face against Impa’s shoulder.

“Goddess, I thought I’d never see you again,” whispered Impa, burying her face in Purah’s hair.

“Pardon me, my ladies,” said Diren, “but we must continue on.”

“Of course,” said Impa.

Purah caught sight of the ashen face and burnt clothing of the young court poet and five Hylian children behind Impa.

“Goddess, did you come from Castle Town?” she asked.

The poet nodded, but his glassy eyes were miles away.

“Go to the fort,” Purah told him, pointing back to the wall, hardly visible behind the husks of Guardians, “you will be taken care of.”

He nodded and followed her directions, though he looked as though he might collapse between here and the wall. Purah knew that she might be needed at the shrine and could not spare the poet another thought.

“I will bear Link to the shrine,” Impa said, gathering his limp form in her arms, “both of you return to Kakariko Village...help will be needed at home.

Akteen placed the Sheikah Slate in Purah’s hands.

“The princess insisted that this is to stay with him,” he told her.

“Right. We must go now,” she said, following Impa.

**Robbie**

“Is he even alive?” Robbie asked as Impa lay Link’s broken body on the resurrection pod.

Link exhaled a weak groan as if to prove his vigour. Impa placed a hand on his cheek and brushed the damp hair from his eyes.

“Robbie, just start the thing!” Purah snapped, fitting the Sheikah Slate into its pedestal.

“Purah, I hate to point out, but we haven’t even run any tests!” Robbie shouted.

“We need to do this now or he will certainly die! We don’t have a choice!”

“Stop it! You’re upsetting him,” Impa hissed at them as she held Link’s face.

Robbie did not know how Impa figured Link could even hear them as far gone as he was. This, then, would be the first real trial of the Shrine’s ability to bring someone back from the brink of death. Robbie watched dispassionately as Impa stripped off Link’s tunic and trousers. His skin was marred with burns and lacerations from fighting the Guardians.

Robbie began to fill the pod with healing waters and Impa stroked Link’s brow comfortingly.

“Impa, you’d better step back,” warned Robbie as he saw the readout on the pedestal.

The pod closed, sealing Link inside and Impa stepped back, a worried expression crossing her usually impassive visage.

“Is he?”

“He’s in some sort of suspended state...” said Robbie.

“How long will this take?” asked Impa.

“Oh my Goddess...” said Purah as she looked at the screen on the suspended Sheikah Slate.

“A century...” breathed Robbie.

“A century...” echoed Impa, her brow creased in frustration.

“In the meantime...we just...put up with Ganon?” Purah asked.

“The princess’s sealing power was unlocked...perhaps...”

“Yeah...” said Robbie, “perhaps.”

The cavern shook with the familiar quake of calamity. Looking at one another, the three went out to the clifftop to investigate.

“Hylia,” gasped Robbie.

A light shone from the highest towers of the castle beyond, enveloping the tendrils of malice and drawing them from the sky. Though the oily clouds which marred the sky had disappeared, Hyrule did not gleam with the magnificence it had only days before. The fields still burned, the Guardians still crept through the lands, and so, so many lay dead beyond their view.

The three stood, unsure of what to do. Upon the Great Plateau, the world was unsettlingly peaceful. The softness of the breeze and brightness of sun contrasted sickeningly with the horror that still covered the rest of the land.

“Now what?” whispered Purah.

“Let us return home to Kakariko Village, and there decide our next steps,” suggested Impa.


	5. The Days Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a destroyed world, the Sheikah must live for the future.

**Impa**

“It must be you,” said Purah.

Impa looked across the table at her sister where they sat in their ancestral home. She toyed with the fine cup in her hands. Worried that the herbs for tea might run out, they had taken to drinking plain hot water most nights.

“I feel far to young for this,” Impa said, “you’re six years my senior.”

Purah sighed.

“Our parents never intended for us to have to make this decision, but we must be reasonable. Between us, you are far more suited to oversee the future of this village.”

“I’m a warrior, not a diplomat or a leader...” Impa protested.

“You served in court; you’re more a diplomat than you know,” said Purah.

“And what of primogeniture? Do you think I shall be accepted in defiance of our traditions?”

“You are far more respected in this village than I am...I believe when they hear of this decision there will be a collective sigh of relief.”

“But Purah—” 

“Impa. Even if this were not the case...I can’t...not right now. I know we all suffer, but my role in this...I should have foreseen Ganon’s perversion of our forces...”

“How can you hold yourself responsible?”

“All my work...all of the work the researchers have done...we were wrong. We thought the Ancient Sheikah left us the power to defeat Ganon...but perhaps they simply buried the Divine Beasts and Guardians because they needed to be laid to rest after serving their purpose...maybe we should have found our own way...”

“You could not have known,” said Impa, “everything pointed to this technology being the Sheikah’s inheritance.”

Impa knew that her sister could bear no blame for any of this, yet Purah seemed determined to carry the weight of the entire collapse of their world.

“A pointless inheritance...as it is, I’m best suited to research. A century is a long time...but that’s just a long time for me to perfect my work. And perhaps we should not count on Link...I don’t know if Ganon is really gone, but should we need to fight him again...”

“Of course...we must be prepared,” Impa conceded.

“So you will do this?”

“It appears that I have no choice.”

Impa took up the mantle of Leader of the Sheikah, though it felt that so few remained. The villagers—destroyed by the pain of loss and uncertainty—expressed relief at the announcement that someone would take responsibility for their well-being. 

“You must settle the matter of succession,” Robbie told her on the day she formally vowed to serve as leader of the clan.

“Already?” asked Impa.

“We must all ensure we have successors to our knowledge,” he said, “who can say if we will live long enough to see this through?”

“Is it out of some personal interest that you’ve proposed this?” Purah asked him.

“I beg your pardon?!” Robbie snapped.

“Perhaps that you want to marry my sister?”

Robbie made a face of disgust.

“There’s no need for that,” said Impa, frowning.

“It’s that face right there. Death can’t come soon enough to the man who must endure Impa’s look of disapproval.”

“Robbie, you’ve made your point with your usual tactfulness,” Impa said.

Impa would have been lying if she had said she had not yet given this issue consideration. The remaining men of the tribe were few and most were already married.

“As to us...” said Robbie, looking across at Purah, “it is in the best interest of the knowledge we possess to scatter ourselves to the wind.”

“Might we discuss this tomorrow?” Impa asked.

She already felt the imposing weight of her responsibility as leader. With a few words she had pledged herself to her people—their survival, their safety, their well-being—and given up all that she was for them.

“We’d best decide soon,” said Robbie, “one rogue Guardian could extinguish our knowledge in a matter of seconds if we aren’t careful.”

That night—with Purah and Robbie staying in different cottages out of an abundance of caution—Impa invited Akteen to her hall. She brought out the tea for him and they sat across from one another at the table.

“I find I am in need of counsel, and I have so few that I can call upon,” she said.

“I will serve you in any way I may, my lady,” he said.

“You may be uncomfortable with this proposal,” said Impa, “but I wish for you to consider it.”

Akteen nodded and sat silently. Impa had rehearsed her words, hoping they sounded neither too callous nor contrived.

“It has been many years since your wife passed. Would you consider entering into marriage again?”

“Who would you have me marry?” asked Akteen his eyebrows elevated in surprise.

“I should have thought that would be obvious.”

Akteen made a small gesture of the negative.

“Me.”

“My lady...” he hesitated, “you are of an age with my own children...”

“I am aware of this.”

“Do you not wish for someone closer to your own age?”

“What I wish for is immaterial,” said Impa, “I must have a husband upon whom I can rely. I need someone with strength and wisdom to assist me in this...of those few men who have survived, you are the only one I can trust to fulfill this role.”

Akteen rolled the delicate cup in his fingers, his expression impassive. Impa worried that Robbie might be climbing higher on the list of eligible suitors the longer Akteen swirled his tea. 

“Don’t feel that you must answer right away,” Impa told him.

“I don’t believe we live in a world where we have the luxury of delaying such decisions,” sighed Akteen.

Impa raised her eyebrows and waited.

“I will be your husband,” he said with resolve, “in service to my people and hopes that I can offer you my support.”

Impa nodded, still numb from the shock of the Calamity and the small disasters it felt as thought they were constantly addressing. In this moment, she realized that she had shed the shadow of a woman who crept through alleys to ensure the security of her princess and became the embodiment of the last hopes of the Sheikah.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I believe it is your right to ask a gift from me.”

“There is no gift that you could offer...though, there is a favour I might ask of you.”

Akteen nodded.

“The court poet, Olin. Purah suspects he has gone on to Hateno. Please, go there and see if he survived his ordeal, then bring him home. I believe we will have use for his knowledge and skills.”

**Olin**

When Olin finally reached Hateno with the children, they were exhausted and filthy. The villagers took pity on them and took in the children. Olin had heard that Freckles had gone to an aging couple who had lost their only son at Fort Hateno. He suspected that she would have a long life of farming ahead of her—but she would have a life.

Olin insisted that he would not be staying in Hateno when offers of lodging for his labour were tendered. Olin was in no shape to work, and traded a brooch of precious metal bearing the royal insignia for a bed at the inn where he could recover.

He lay on his stomach for days, his wounds exposed to the open air. The burns on his back stung and wept with infection and he half-hoped it would take him. To his disappointment, the innkeeper’s daughter tended to him while he convalesced. As she cleansed his wounds with salt-water and spirits she spoke to him constantly. He could barely hang onto a word of it, so lost was he in the horrifying memories of the days since the Calamity.

“When you’re well,” she said late one night, covering his hand with hers, “perhaps we could...get to know one another a little better.”

“I think I shall just return home,” said Olin numbly.

Kakariko Village had never really been his home. He had been born in Castle Town like so many other Sheikah who served the court. Like everything else in his life, he was not about to share that with this stranger, no matter how kind she had been. He suspected that she thought he was more important than he was, based on his payment.

“How?” she pressed, “they say the fields burn all around us. Stay with me. I’m a good prospect; I’m set to inherit this inn.”

“I can’t,” said Olin, “you’ve been very kind...but, I don’t think I’m meant to be with...people.”

“Whatever does that mean?”

Olin could not really say. He tried not to recall the shattering noise and total destruction of the Calamity. He had stepped over so many bodies to get here—left three children unburied in the dirt—how could he live a normal life after that? 

“I shall leave soon,” he said, “as soon as I’m well.”

Within a few days, he was sought out. Akteen arrived at the inn and came to his bedside. He peeked beneath the clean dressings that rested unbound over his injuries.

“Olin, you are fortunate to have survived,” Akteen told him as he felt his skin for fever.

“I’m not so certain,” Olin said into his pillow.

“Drink this,” Akteen told him, handing him a red elixir in a phial, “it will hasten your healing.”

Olin pushed himself up on his elbows, the tender skin on his back and back and arms stinging as he moved. He drank the elixir and felt some of the pain ease.

“The Sheikah have been returning home,” said Akteen, “you are the only one who is known to have escaped Castle Town.”

The reminder made Olin’s heart hurt and he lay on the bed, burying his face and squeezing the pillow as he tried to catch his breath. He could not even bring himself to think of his mother, who had been lost somewhere in the castle.

“I’ve come to bring you back—if you’re well enough.”

Olin just wanted to run out into the flaming fields and perish. The weight of living any kind of life right now was more than he could bear.

“And if I don’t wish to?” Olin asked.

“I could not press you into going where you did not wish to go,” said Akteen, “but not respond to Lady Impa’s summons would be a terrible affront, even in such times as we live.”

“Tomorrow,” Olin bargained, worried that even then he would not be fit to ride.

“When you’re ready,” said Akteen, though it seemed quite evident by his tone that sooner was better.

That night, while Akteen slept in the next bed, Olin pushed his fatigued body up from his straw mattress, biting his lips to hold back his moan of pain. He had been given a loose-fitting tunic, but found he could not bear the thought of anything against his healing skin. He took the stairs down to the main level of the inn with the greatest of care and pushed open the door.

“Where’re you going?” the desk attendant called, no doubt worried that he was about in such a state and only half-dressed.

Olin cast him a dark look as he pushed open the door and stepped out into the night. He had not been outside since his arrival. He flesh raised into bumps, though the night was quite warm. Looking out beyond the village, he was horrified to see that the sky was hung with smoke as far as he could see. The air smelled of burning, though the only fires Olin could see were the far-off glow of orange light that reflected off of distant ashy particles.

“Terrible, isn’t it?”

Olin jumped to see Akteen had silently crept up beside him.

“I would admonish you for nearly startling me to death. Only seeing this, I nearly wish you had.”

“Olin, you’re young,” sighed Akteen, “you will outlive this horror and it will become but a distant memory.”

Olin was not sure he believed that.

As the night dragged on into morning, the sun shone weakly through the smoke that covered the world in a dun haze. Akteen had given Olin a tonic to help with the pain of his wound, but riding was still torturous. They had set a quick pace in hopes that they could make it to Kakariko Village before nightfall.

In late afternoon, they crossed the destruction of Fort Hateno. Olin grew light-headed at the sight of the defunct Guardians that piled across the plain. They almost seemed to move in the smog that covered the land, but every time Olin thought he saw movement he turned his head to find that it was only his eyes playing tricks upon him.

“If you keep up the pace we will be through very soon,” said Akteen, perhaps seeing his expression.

Olin’s mind was filled with remembrances of that terrible night when he had last crossed here. The world had been a haze of feverish pain and Olin had prayed to Hylia in earnest for the first time in his life. He begged that he and the children would not be destroyed by the Guardians—or at least that it would be less painful than the infection taking up residence in his wounds. He recalled Link’s limp body draped in Diren’s arms and nearly wept at the thought of it.

By the time they reached Kakariko Bridge in the early evening, Olin slumped forward over his saddle; the pain tonic had worn off and every movement was agony. 

“Please, we must stop,” Olin gasped.

Akteen pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted. He took Olin’s reins and tied their horses at the end of the bridge. He breathed a sigh through his long nose as he gently lifted the back of Olin’s light tunic to check the bandaged wound.

“Is it bleeding?”

“Not much,” said Akteen.

“It’s the pain of it,” Olin admitted through clenched teeth, “I would lie down here on the stone if I only I could move from my horse.”

“I worry that any more tonic will put you to sleep and you will fall from your horse,” Akteen told him gravely.

“I won’t,” Olin promised, “please, this is beyond my endurance.” 

Akteen gave Olin only a drop of the bitter, white substance and Olin began to feel the lashing pain of his injuries subsiding as they rode on. Though his mind was starting to feel as hazy as the darkening world, Olin kept his promise and remained stubbornly atop his horse until they reached Kakariko Village.

“Where am I to stay?” Olin asked Akteen, as they reached the clacking chimes at the village gate.

“With your uncle.”

“I would rather sleep on the road.”

“Your uncle is not a cruel man,” said Akteen.

“Merely unkind to a child born outside of the bonds of marriage,” Olin told him bitterly.

“This is not my decision,” said Akteen, helping Olin from his horse, “when you have recovered from your injuries you may do as you please.”

Olin steeled himself as Akteen knocked on the door of his uncle’s cottage.

**Robbie**

They had stayed together in Kakariko Village far too long, Robbie thought. Though he recognized the necessity of departing and going their separate ways, he found he was reluctant to leave the place he was born for what might be the last time. Hoping he might turn words into deed, he informed Impa of the plans he had Purah had been discussing for the past moon’s turn.

“Impa, we can stay here no longer,” said Robbie the evening of Impa’s wedding to Akteen.

Impa’s expression remained as serious as it had when she gave her vows to the man who was twice her age. Robbie had never found Impa to be either interesting or good company, but he had to concede that her unmatched rationality and devotion made her exactly the right leader for these troubled times.

“What are your plans?” she asked.

“Purah insists that we must recover the guidance stone from the Royal Ancient Tech Lab. Then I shall go on to Akkala alone,” said Robbie.

Impa’s lips tightened a little; no doubt she thought this was as foolish as Robbie did, but Purah was of a single-mind. Robbie had to admit, he dreaded seeing the destruction of Central Hyrule as much as he desperately needed to see if anything remained. He had given up hope that Cherie had survived, but a part of his mind could not seem to accept that she was gone.

“Take Olin to recover the stone.”

“The poet?” asked Robbie in dismay.

“The Goddess has plans for us all.”

“Yes, but it rather sounds like the plan for Olin is yours and not of the Goddess.”

“Hm,” said Impa, “I suppose that is my prerogative as leader.”

Robbie raised his eyebrows at her assured tone; perhaps Impa was not so dull as he had thought. Robbie still didn’t like it.

“Then, may I ask, what is your plan?”

“Olin may not be a researcher of ancient technology, but he is highly educated, well-read and in need of a diversion. It would be to our benefit to have him join our cause.”

“He’s not much of a fighter,” Robbie pointed out.

“He is young yet, and he trains with Akteen. There is time.”

“Wonderful,” said Robbie sarcastically, “we shall take this adolescent warrior-poet through the burning wastelands of Hyrule so that he feels included.”

“Careful, Robbie. People my begin to think you’ve come up with this plan all on your own.”

The next morning, the three set out westward on horseback. They brought with them a donkey to pull a wooden cart so that they might haul the guidance stone back to Purah’s lab in Hateno.

They kept their silk face covers pulled up to protect themselves from the ashy air. When they rode close enough, Robbie could see Olin and Purah’s eyes were red and irritated from the smoke and ash in the air. Robbie could feel his own eyes burning and debris building up in their corners as he blinked the scratchiness away.

Purah’s expression was one of firm resignation, but Olin’s eyes darted about and his horse danced nervously beneath him. Robbie sighed in irritation; Olin was far too inexperienced for such a journey. Robbie pulled up his horse beside the youth.

“Poet,” he addressed him.

Olin cast him an indignant look.

“Take this.”

Robbie passed him a dagger, crudely fashioned from Guardian parts.

“What’s this meant to be?” Olin asked.

“The last defence between you and any Guardians we encounter.”

Olin stiffened, but fastened the weapon to his belt.

They rode until nightfall and slept in the crumbling masonry of a small guards’ post near a bridge. The smog still hung at night, reflecting the light of fires that burned so that the world was never completely dark. They kept watch in shifts, but the smoke was so thick Robbie doubted that he would see any foe before it saw them. 

Just before sunrise, the sky opened up and rain fell across the fields of Central Hyrule. It knocked the particles from the air and calmed the fires that raged beyond. They rode on over the slick dirt roads, the less toxic mist of rainfall still obscuring their sight. Robbie was not sure whether or not he could still recognize these roads he was sure he had taken before.

“Do you know this place?” Purah asked quietly as she pulled her horse to a stop.

Robbie looked up to see the burned out remains of a stable. Was this the ranch where Cherie had worked? Robbie found he could not seem to make the connection between where they now stood and those visits he had made. He dismounted and trudged through the mud to find some scrap of familiarity.

“Robbie, we don’t have time for this,” said Purah.

“Just...” Robbie clenched his fist and inhaled heavily to avoid shouting at Purah.

“There aren’t any bodies...” Olin observed nervously.

“Robbie, we need to go! I don’t fancy a life as moblin excrement!” Purah snapped.

Robbie swallowed hard and returned to his horse. The remainder of the ride was a fog. Robbie had suppressed those feelings in the weeks since the Calamity in order to commit to his duty—to place Link into a slumber, fight his way back to the village, fashion the kinds of weapons the village might use in defence—now all he could do was wonder what was the point of it all? Why defend a world so clearly on the tipping point? Surely they would all succumb to this waking nightmare, either at the end of a monster’s spear or though slow starvation as their stores depleted.

**Purah**

Purah tried not to stare at the castle and the town destroyed to its south as she climbed to the top of a rock formation to see the lay of the land. She immediately wished she hadn’t; all she could see were destroyed garrisons, markets, and outposts. Olin had made it out of Castle Town—was it so improbable to think that Lilah had not? The state of the world she could see from that vantage point sowed the first seeds of doubt in her heart.

As her feet touched ground she turned to find Olin standing a little too close. The spindly youth towered over her, but he looked as though a strong gust of wind might snap him in two, even in his stealth outfit.

“Robbie left,” said Olin.

“What do you mean he left?” Purah asked, trudging back to check the guidance stone, secured in the cart.

“Departed, rode away, fucked off...I’m not sure how much clearer I can make it.”

“Stow the attitude. Did he say anything?” Purah asked.

“Nothing.”

“Well...he has his own lab to set up. And I guess he can finally feel at peace now that we are no longer at risk of losing the sum of Ancient Sheikah knowledge if a tree should suddenly fall on us.”

Olin held his horse’s reins in one hand and the donkey’s lead in the other. The weight of the guidance stone had slowed their progress considerably. Purah led her horse ahead of Olin, her hand on the eightfold blade Impa had insisted she take. She found that she worried more about what she might do if she came across people than monsters.

Olin plodded along silently behind her. Though the rain had cleared the air a little, the smokey haze began to return with the westerly winds. The skies over that direction remained so smoggy that Purah could not imagine what might have happened to those settlements. She had heard nothing of the Rito, the Gerudo, or the Gorons since the Calamity and the only word they had from Zora’s Domain was that they were formally terminating diplomatic relations with the Sheikah. She supposed that the notice was polite, considering the state of the world.

“Why have we come for this thing anyway?” Olin asked.

“How do you expect me to do research without it? Anyway, it wouldn’t do for it to fall into the wrong hands,” Purah snapped.

“Maybe the Sheikah were the wrong hands. The Calamity has nearly wiped us from the face of Hyrule...surely the Goddess would not have allowed that if we were her chosen people.”

Purah would have fought with him if she didn’t have such a nagging sense that Olin was somehow right.

As the day wore into night, Olin grew quiet and squirmed uncomfortably. They cautiously made camp in the burnt trees between Proxim Bridge and Duelling Peaks. Olin tugged at his tunic uncomfortably and seemed out of sorts.

“Settle down,” Purah told him, crossly, “you’re making the horses nervous.”

Olin pulled his tunic off over his head, his breath hitching as he desperately tried to to calm himself. Irritated, Purah walked over to him and grabbed his chin roughly.

“What’s wrong?”

“The wound,” he panted, “has it reopened?”

“What wound?”

“On my back.”

Purah was taken aback by the mottled flesh which was pinkish-red even in the firelight. For all the severity of the injury turned Purah’s stomach, it was healing and she could see no broken flesh. She carefully put her hand on Olin’s unmarred shoulder and he started under her touch.

“It’s closed,” she told him.

“Why does it pain me so?”

“I dunno...put your shirt back on,” she said.

Olin was clearly bothered—he had come this way the night that they had met in Blatchery Plain, after all—but Purah could not find it in herself to ask about his unease. No one was untouched by the Calamity, and Olin’s youth did not make his suffering unique. She, too, had lost her parents, her livelihood...though she refused to give Lilah up so easily. Surely, her lover would find her in Hateno.

Beside her, Olin had re-clothed himself but sat shivering. His hands were balled in the fabric of his top as he tried to suppress his silent sobs. Purah sighed—she was hardly known for her empathy—and reached up to Olin’s shoulder.

“Just lie down,” she directed him with all the softness she could muster.

He rested his head on her outstretched thigh and she stroked his long hair uncomfortably, hoping that his tears might cease so that he could rest.

It took three days to reach Hateno. When they arrived late on the third evening, Olin stayed one night in the barely furnished Ancient Tech Lab with Purah. They spread their bedrolls on the ground floor of the lab and listened to the silence beyond the crackling fire in the hearth. 

The next morning, Purah sent Olin on his way back to Kakariko Village; she had had quite enough of company, especially that of a traumatized adolescent. Impa had sent him out on this trek, let her have him back so that she might deal with his damaged soul.

“I’m to go on my own?” he asked.

“It’s time to behave as an adult, Olin. That means you don’t cry on the road and you go home and deliver the message to my sister that the mission has been completed.”

“I’m sure someday a monument shall be erected in your honour that reads ‘Dr Purah—known for her generosity of spirit’,” he said sardonically.

“Well your plaque shall read that you are a pain-in-the-ass poet. Don’t die on the road; Impa has plans for you.”

“You think you’re so tough,” he griped.

“Perhaps one day you shall be too,” she told him bitterly as she sent him on his way.

Purah hired some builders from Hateno to install the Guidance Stone in the lab. Labour was cheap as the villagers scrounged to make a living. This was fortunate for Purah, as she had very little left in her coffers.

By brutal winter, the stone rested where it should be and Purah bound a rag around a sturdy branch for a torch to light the Ancient Flame. As she trudged through the snow to light the lanterns, the villagers avoided her. Purah was more than happy to to endure their scorn; she had fallen into the same trap of hubris as her peers, focusing only on the technology they had unearthed. Purah would not make this mistake again.

In her loneliness, she thought she could sometimes hear Lilah’s voice and see a dark head of hair on the edge of her vision. She never turned to look; she didn’t want her to go away. She certainly never gave into despair as Olin and Robbie had. Purah had no time for tears as she read the books that Olin sometimes lugged from Kakariko Village on Impa’s instruction. She could not reflect on the devastation of the post-Calamity world as she stared through her telescope, looking for some sign of civilization in the ruinous west.

“Lady Impa sends word of the birth of her second child,” said Olin one day as he entered the lab, his clothes dirty from the road.

“Didn’t she just have one?” Purah asked, not looking up from her notes as Olin set two heavy books on the table.

“That was over two years ago,” said Olin in astonishment.

Purah lifted her head in surprise and really looked at Olin for the first time since they had retrieved the guidance stone. He was no longer a gangly adolescent, she realized, but had grown into a young man. Purah became aware that she had lost count of the seasons which had slipped away while she devoted herself so feverishly to her work.

“If you don’t have anything to report, I’ll tell her you’re alive...it’s what I usually say when she asks,” said Olin, leaving the lab and closing the door behind him.

Purah stared at the closed door, shaken.

_Well, are you just going to sit there all day?_

This time—disturbed that she had lost herself so completely—Purah turned to the voice over her shoulder and confirmed what she had always known: Lilah was lost to her.

Purah set her books aside and climbed unsteadily to the roof to look through her telescope. She had recorded in her notes that the fires which scorched the land had burned themselves out, but she had not really taken a good look at Hyrule. For the first time, she could see blossoms and buds on trees and green growth in lands beyond. In the silence on her rooftop she could suddenly hear birds singing and the soft soughing of the wind. The land was healing.

For the first time in years, Purah broke down and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Robbie’s diary he says Purah left him after collecting the guidance stone, but I’ve been treating him like an unreliable narrator...mostly because I find him unbearably arrogant and I think he would really treat events differently than Purah would. Also, I just love with writing Purah; she can be so appalling...I would write all Purah all the time if I could think of any good material...


End file.
